Asi Fue Que
by Felicity Gemfiar
Summary: Voldemort gives Harry a gift. NC, LMN, COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1 A beginning

Asì Fue Que…

(And so it was that…)

Author: Felicity Gemfiar

Pairing: Voldemort and Dursley Family

Rating: R/NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters, names, associations, and the world of Hogwarts belong to J.K. Rowling and her corporate people. This is purely for entertainment purposes with no revenue attempting to be generated.

**_WARNING_**_: This fic is rather disturbing. It contains rape and grotesque imagery. I do not intend to glorify the crime of rape in any way, nor do I support such action. If you have difficulty handling such adult content in a mature manner, please do not continue. This is your warning, and please, no flames: you have this notice before it even starts._

It was a regular day, just like the Dursley's loved. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, just a plain old Saturday, even Dudley was home.

Petunia had just taken the roast from the oven, steaming and crackling. It was a thing of beauty if she did say so herself.

"Vernon, Dudley, dinner!"

This meal, a meal of perfection: it was like the fifties again in the Dursley household. Petunia untied her floral apron and hung it on the peg before she stood in her skirt and heels by the table.

Dudley came in first, strutting like he always did, placing a huge proud smile on his father's face, who followed behind.

"Yes, you've really outdone yourself, dear." Uncle Vernon rasped as he kissed his wife on the cheek. Dudley took his seat, and his parents a few moments later.

Aunt Petunia grasped the ivy bowl of mashed potatoes and passed it around the table, the other dishes soon along the same path.

"How was your day, Vernon?" Petunia began.

It was always like that. Petunia would ask about Vernon's day, taking keen interest in the drill business while Dudley spooned serving after serving into his bubbly face. And thusly the meal passed, just as it always did: boring and as normal as the rain.

"Good evening." The deep rumble of a stranger shattered the monotony of Number Four Privet Drive.

The three occupants stared open-mouthed at the man in a hooded black cloak in the doorway of their kitchen. They were all too paralyzed with fear from the presence that radiated off him in waves.

The face under the hood smiled in complete pleasure at the expressions of terror on the faces before him. Non-chalantly, he extended his hand from his sleeve.

"'e's go' a wan'." Dudley managed to squeak from his mouth full of potatoes and beef.

"Indeed." Came the cold reply.

Before any of the Dursleys knew what happened, Voldemort placed a silence charm on the house and blasted the table away. The resounding screams were like music to his ears as Petunia raced in front of Dudley.

"Do not be frightened," he hissed from the shadows that obscured his face, "be terrified." He laughed as Petunia shrieked, and then bound and gagged all three of them to the wall.

Chuckling, Voldemort raised his hood and unclasped his cloak, reveling the truth of his hideous form clad in impeccable robes of black and greem. Three sets of eyes widened in shock and horror.

"Mobilious Corpus." He pointed to Aunt Petunia's body, which moved rom the wall and plopped on the floor.

"Oh, just a moment, my dear," Voldemort taunted and walked over to Uncle Vernon. "We can't have you… _blocking_ this out."

An extreme grin spread across his features as Voldemort brought up his wand. Uncle Vernon was screaming in pain as blood poured from his eyes. The bastard cut off his eyelids.

Dudley closed his own eyes and turned his face away from the sight of his squealing father. The monster before him just laughed and glided to the pale woman on the floor.

A swish of his wand and a table appeared, bringing Petunia to hip height. A flick of the rod brought Petunia's dress to her waist and wrists above her head. Voldemort began to unfasten his robes and release his trousers.

Screaming always did manage to make his cock ache. Petunia, however, was gagged—not quite his usual style—so he directed his wand and freed the gag, rejoicing in the hair curling voice that emanated from her lips. Another movement and her cotton panties disappeared exposing her uncompromisingly.

Disrobing completely, Voldemort settled between the magically spread thighs of the terrified woman. He grinned like a wild ape and grabbed his prick.

Stroking roughly and at irregular intervals, Voldemort became rock solid and wholly ready to make her bleed. Bending forward, he spit on his shaft and her vulnerable entrance.

The screaming soon halted and became body-wrenching sobs as Mrs. Dursley began to cry. Voldemort looked up at her with pity in his eyes.

"Don't worry, it'll only hurt the first time." And he slammed his cock deep within her.

The immense pleasure of the dry and unwilling cunt nearly unmanned him, but he gained control of his body and pounded relentlessly into her. He didn't mind the whimper when he tore her flesh, or the screeching when he continued to brush against that tender spot.

Vernon Dursley watched as his wife was brutally raped, blood streaming from the apex of her thighs. His fury and fear intensified as he watched her cry in both pain, sorrow and terror.

Dudley couldn't bear to attend to the scene, shutting out all images and sounds, closing himself off to the world. Voldemort looked on with glee as he destroyed this family.

The anguish plastered on each of their faces, combined with the screams and sensations around his cock was too much, and Voldemort spilled his seed into the muggle, voicing his pleasure.

Pulling out, he muttered the cleaning spell to erase the blood and come from his body. The woman still lay sobbing while he replaced his trousers.

He returned to the two males against the wall and took note of the tears mixed with crimson on the man's cheeks. The boy, however, wasn't watching.

"My son, I was just about to have mercy on your dear mother," a new smile played merrily on his lips, "but now, she must be pleasured more."

Voldemort drew Dudley from the wall and transfigured his trousers and boxers away. Even at the grotesque nature of events, Dudders was still half hard. Panicking, the boy looked back to his father, whose eyes were watering like cascades, but the bleeding had stopped. Thank god for small miracles.

"Now, dear boy, look lively." Voldemort grinned and took the flesh in his hand, bringing it reluctantly to attention.

Poked in the back, Dudley moved to where his mother's head rest, sobs still shaking her body. Voldemort spelled Petunia into a crouching position, blood slowly dripping onto the table. Carefully, he positioned the boy at his mother's mouth.

"Now, suck." He commanded.

Fresh tears spilled from her eyes as she pulled a face and opened her lips. Ever so slowly, Petunia leaned forward, prolonging the moment of defiling her son. All too soon, Voldemort pushed the boy's cock forward, completely sheathing him in the wet cavern.

This was the first time Dudley ever felt a tongue on him, and though it was his mother, it still felt good. But, looking down, he became disgusted: his first blowjob came by the woman who gave birth to him. He began to cry, but his body betrayed him and he remained hot and hard.

The sensations were too new, and intense, and before he knew it, Dudley had burst in his mother's mouth. They both had tear tracks on their cheeks and Petunia's chin was covered in semen.

Voldemort sighed. "Had you only swallowed." He turned to Dudley, "Imperio."

Uncle Vernon gazed on through the smear of water to see his son quietly position himself behind his wife. Just as silently, he watched as Dudley began to fuck her doggie-style.

Voldemort squealed his delight at the horror on the husband's face, watching his son fuck his wife. The joy increased as the boy's thrusts sped of their own accord, meaning he was close, very close.

"Finite Incantatum."

Dudley came down from the euphoric plane to find himself buried in the cunt of his mother, tensed and near orgasm once again. He couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to. His cock was smeared in blood and cold semen, and still he pumped on.

Of his own free will, Dudley came into his mother's womb, collapsing on top of her immediately following. The screams of Uncle Vernon had become background music, they'd been going so long.

"And now, your reward." The wooden rod pointed at the blood-spattered, sobbing woman, "Avada Kedavra."

In a flash of green light, the whimpering stopped and Petunia lay motionless. Dudley began to blubber louder. It was a time of firsts for the boy: first blowjob, first sex encounter, first experience of death.

Uncle Vernon couldn't believe his eyes and for the first time since his wife's rape, there was silence.

The monster moved to Dudley, frozen behind his mother's corpse. "And for you." Another blaze of light and the boy lay puppet-like upon the floor.

And now, Voldemort transferred his attentions to the man against the wall. "Your family is dead." He spoke gaily. "And now, it's your turn."

He dropped to his knees and tore the dress-pants from his body; his briefs soon follow suit. Vernon's flaccid cock stared Voldemort in the face.

None too gently, the wizard too the flesh into his mouth and bobbed up and down, letting the thing slip and slide while he bit with his teeth. He could see the pain in the man's eyes and how desperately he wanted to close them.

Too bad he had no eyelids.

Voldemort continued his ministrations until her felt the stirrings of life in the limp extremity. He went all the way down, taking the length of the organ into his throat before he chomped down viciously.

With his snake-like teeth and sheer determination, Voldemort bit off Uncle Vernon's penis, spitting it upon the tiled floor to spill cherry red fluid on the floor. Scarlet trailed from the corners of his lips as he smiled wickedly at the face before him—a face in utter torment.

Bringing up his hand, Voldemort took pity on the muggle. "Avada Kedavra."

After it was all said and done, Voldemort felt his ire rise. It should have been more of a fight. Where in bloody hell was that damned Potter boy?

He took his rage out on the house, blowing up the television set and tearing the couch to shreds. He returned to the kitchen and collected his clothing, beginning to reassemble himself.

It was then he finally heard the footsteps. Smiling, he continued to non-chalantly button his robes.

The man in question burst through the door, wand at the ready in unreserved fighting stance, although his face mirrored horror and sorrow.

Voldemort draped his cloak over his arm and stared the raven-haired wizard straight in the eye.

"Just for you, Harry." And he apparated away, leaving the young Mr. Potter alone with his dead tormentors.

-Fin-


	2. Chapter 2 A Conclusion

A/N: Due to some requests, I've added another section to this rather gruesome story. Please take heed; it's as bad as the other section. Thus, your warning and thus no flames. Please.

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Chapter 2

Dolores Umbridge sat behind her pristine oak desk in her small oblong office. Everything around her was in perfect order—papers neatly stacked, quills in the stand, books placed crisply on the shelves. Most of the doilies had disappeared, they reminded her too much of the-the—_centaurs_ and the Forbidden Forrest.

The night she returned to her immaculate home she threw out the heirloom grandfather clock with its incessant ticking. Clip-clop, tick-tock…

Dolores never left her home very often; the images came to her too much with the plants and shrubberies on every Shoppe doorstep. She flooed to her office at the Ministry every morning and apparated to her office at home every night; the concrete routine brought some sanity back to her life.

Grudgingly, a few weeks ago, she admitted the returned presence of Lord Voldemort, yet she still seemed more frightened of the half-breeds than the darkest wizard in one-hundred years. She had more reason to fear the centaurs, those who could and actually have committed damage, than the distant and indifferent Dark Lord.

Slowly, she rose from the plush leather armchair and grasped the short candlestick on the waxed surface of the desk. Her nightgown shimmered around her toad-like form in waves of pure disgust. The flame flickered as the woman maneuvered around the glossy furniture to ward to door. She kept that closed: open spaces still terrified her.

Glancing at the wall to her right, Dolores caught the gaze of her mother's portrait. The woman had a stern face and hard eyes. Unlike most portraits of the wizarding world, Madame Umbridge did not like to smile and converse with her daughter, or anyone else for that matter. She stood elegantly in her purple silk robes and matching silk under-dress as still as a Muggle portrait with only her eyes to betray her. Dolores stared at the person who made her the woman she was today. Her smile was a bitter one and she humphed firmly. The painting just stared back with empty orbs.

Snapping the trim of her gown, Dolores turned angrily from the picture and walked toward the entrance to the office. Before she ran into something solid.

Something that laughed when she stumbled back.

Someone who grasped her shoulders and tossed her casually onto the couch behind her. The candle blew out as it fell to the floor, obscuring any image she might have gained from its feeble light. Not even the moonlight from the un-curtained window gave any hint as to the identity of the tall figure in the middle of her office. In truth, it only put his face into more shadow.

"Wh-What are you doing here? Who are you?" Umbridge demanded in a trembling accent.

"Good evening…" the voice hissed from within the depths of his hood, "Dolores." A high-pitched laugh pervaded the room as the figure came stalking forward. Dolores screamed.

"G-get away from me!" She shouted fruitlessly as she scrambled back on the couch, all her toad-like features exemplified in the half-light, attempting to move as far as possible from the cloaked man before her.

He laughed again, with a solid amount of mirth. "I love it when they scream. It only hastens their departure." He spoke more to himself than the wobbly female huddled in an upright fetal position.

It was true however. Lord Voldemort became highly aroused from the screams and pleas of his victims. Only, tonight he would have to abstain from this… _woman_, if one could call her that. He would not taint his reputation with her soiled body. He had better plans for her, better plans indeed.

With a flick of his wand, he had her roped tightly to an armchair to the left of the couch. He kept her mouth unobstructed, just to hear the shrieks and entreaties to let her go, she would give him anything he wanted.

Only, what he wanted was her, nothing else.

"No, dear. I came for _you_. None of your petty possessions." And with the grace of a prince, the Dark Lord released the clasp on his cloak and elegantly tossed it over the bare side-table. The rustling of the fabric brought Dolores' eyes wide and her mouth to go completely dry. She began to wonder, what foul thing did he have in store for her?

"Have no fear, I will not touch you," Voldemort, the accomplished Legilimens, could contrive the thoughts of the awful woman. Never would he dream of coming into contact with her. Filthy beast.

Dolores began to cry, not certain of what else to do in this situation. Her hands tied to the arms of the seat, and her torso bound to the back, she had limited movement and couldn't wipe the tears away. It seemed her skin decided to match her inner turmoil and took on a sickly green colour.

"Now, now, Dolores; don't become discomfited just yet. We still have your trial to attend to." Voldemort taunted gleefully, smiling a pointed-tooth smile.

He advanced on her, gliding forward, his feet hidden by the long black robes. The light played over his face, the pale silver light giving and ethereal glow to his white skin and scarlet eyes. The shadows within the room danced across his sunken cheeks and needle thin nose. He moved right up to her, merely millimetres from her face, and swept around to the side of her head.

"Prepare yourself, Dolores." He blew hot air into her ear; she whimpered in response.

It seemed like the father of Satan stood before her.

"And what would woman such as yourself want…" Voldemort played with his lips as he thought viciously. "An, yes. The perfect action."

The smile he flashed her was enough to extinguish the flames at the center of the earth.

"Come, Dolores." Her stiffened body moved toward him, and he positioned her on her knees, the chair bonds left behind. Her whole person trembled with fear, fueling his desire to see the thing suffer, as well as his now rising desire…

A few more Latin phrases, and she lay completely naked, leaning on her elbows, shackled to the floor at the wrist and forearm. All wrinkled and flabby skin exposed to the most ruthless man alive shivered with every breath she managed.

Shamelessly, she began to dampen with fear and arousal at being so exposed. But the enjoyment lasted only so long. The next spell blew away any thought except extreme terror and dread from her now frozen limbs.

-Clop- -Clop-

Voldemort had transfigured the couch into a shape resembling a centaur. However, there existed no face or defining features, just the perfect shape of an excited male centaur during mating season.

"All under my control," the wicked man whispered to himself. It may be inanimate, but the spells made the shape move just like the real thing.

"Oh, my dear—it's about to come." The gleaming smile, the epitome of malicious evil, spread like honey across his face.

Stealthily, he moved toward the nearest chair and unzipped his trousers, pulling them down as he sat. His hand drifted to grasp his long hard length and squeeze gently, bringing just the right amount of pain to his pleasure. Just the excitement of watching the centaur and the woman-toad was enough to make the flesh scorching and solid. The sensation was amazingly overwhelming. The cool night air caressed him like the cool saliva of a mouth releasing him.

And the screams. They fueled his fire; he closed his eyes and increased the pressure to his throbbing erection.

The centaur moved quite close, too close. Way too close. Her space felt invaded. She knew it was when leathery flesh touched her own. Already she felt violated, knowing what was in store for her.

That touch soon turned into a caress, rounding her buttock, nearer and nearer to her body's betrayal. She whimpered between squeals as thick fingers slid within the folds of her dripping pussy.

Voldemort pressed harder, arching and gasping. The pre-come was immense and he used it as lubricant to stroke faster and harder.

"Stop it! Stop it, you MONSTER!"

Two heads whipped around to see Madame Umbridge shouting and flailing frantically from within her portrait. Voldemort's proceedings took on new urgency as now both women pleaded for mercy.

His hand moved faster and faster over his erection, bringing ecstasy with every thrust of his hips. The erotic nature of sitting half-dressed, masturbating to a live rape and the mother watching from across the room made the steely length in his hand even more rigid, burning hot and the man stroked faster.

The voiceless centaur removed his fingers from her and stood back for a moment, seeming to observe his handy-work, except he owned no organ to see, and the gesture just seemed odd. However, in good time, the creature mounted Dolores and began probing the intimate area with his own sopping groin. The cock was at least four inches in diameter and nine inches long. It rubbed and prodded, poking and taking it's time before the animal instinct took over and the centaur slammed his cock into her totally vulnerable entrance. The impact was so sudden and swift, Dolores had absolutely no time to stretch and her vaginal tunnel shredded instantly, blood pouring everywhere. The centaur took no notice; he didn't stop.

The intense shriek that sounded from those lips brought another wave of pleasure to the Dark Lord, Madame Umbridge still protesting in the background.

The movement of such a large creature as a centaur bruised and sliced her flesh, most of the inflictions immediately visible. Her body was slowly being pounded into oblivion.

Voldemort's hand gained an unsteady rhythm and his hips sporadically bucked into his curled fingers. He was close, so close. With skill, his limbs moved to meet his own demands and soon he cried out in release, pouring his seed over his taut stomach, the floor and the chair, just as the centaur, too, relieved himself into the butchered womb of Dolores Umbridge.

Sobbing could now be heard in surround sound as Voldemort slowly regained himself.

Task complete, the centaur transfigured back into the couch, covering half the pool of crimson and white splayed over the wooden floor and rugs.

The man grinned wickedly. Standing and approaching her fully dressed.

"I do pray you've enjoyed yourself," he mused sarcastically as he procured his wand before her eyes, "this part won't be much fun."

He shot spell after spell at her, mincing her skin and producing more lakes of blood on the floor. Stones, lamps, furniture and anything he could get his hands on were tossed in her direction, shattering her bones in a thousand places. Screaming filled the night air like an opera and Voldemort gained momentum and encouragement.

When nothing in the room remained unbroken, Voldemort turned his flaming red eyes on her and pointed his wand sharply.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

He looked on rather sadly, "Over and done with. A pity I couldn't have sliced you a bit more." He stared bemusedly at the puddles of fluids Dolores now lay tormentedly in.

Voldemort turned on the pale portrait and smirked.

"_Rojo Inflamare!_"

Within seconds, a streaming shower of flames fell where Madame Umbridge once stood.

With an air of non-chalance no ordinary being could possess, Voldemort grabbed his cloak and turned to leave. Only to be confronted with the one man he wanted most in the world.

"Goodbye, Voldemort."

There was a gloomy expression in the man's tone not lost on the Dark Lord, who looked somewhat confused.

"Care to join me, Harry?"

A smile crept into those amazingly green eyes and red lips. Harry moved closer. Voldemort waited for him.

"I've wanted this for so long, Tom. Why have we wasted so many years?" Harry whispered breathlessly as he sauntered closer still.

"All in the name of torture, lover. Or you soon will be."

Harry rushed the last steps into Voldemort's open arms and kissed him hungrily. Voldemort opened his mouth and slid his tongue past Harry's parted lips. He tasted like cream and peaches.

A duel of a different sort ensued: that of the tongues. Voldemort was sure to win and the two parted in panting anticipation, foreheads against each other and arms wrapped around the other's torso.

"You know, you are rather stupid." Harry murmured huskily.

Before Voldemort could reply, or even process Harry's bold statement, he lay dead upon the rug, staring uncomprehendingly at the ceiling.

Harry wiped his mouth disgustedly with the back of his hand, still holding his wand. But that wasn't enough. The slime still slithered on his lips, and so he spat.

"I don't think I'll ever recover from that, Harry. You snogged the evilest man in the universe." Ron came into the room by way of the window.

"I know. I think I'm traumatized for life."

"I'm positive I am," Ron replied. "Hermione's going to kill you when she finds out."

Harry moaned painfully.

-Fin


End file.
